


the cavalry

by PunkHazard



Series: Synaesthesia [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: However it became a tradition for Lena to invite him out for drinks after training, Genji's glad it did.





	

However it became a tradition for Lena to invite him out for drinks after training, Genji’s glad it did; she kept it up even when cleared for active duty, visiting him after every assignment. Other rookies steer clear of him but Oxton’s been his neighbor in the medical bay for months on end before they were allowed to use the training room again, and his sparring partner ever since. The girl is _fast_ , drinks like a fish and doesn’t mind so much if he refuses to take off his visor or speak in multiple syllables, especially since she does enough talking for both of them.

He hasn’t had much reason to regret accepting the offers until their most recent session ends and Tracer’s dragged him to the local pub, a quiet, sleepy place frequented almost exclusively by Overwatch agents and personnel. “You should speak with Angela about that,” she says, the shift in tone jarring Genji back to the present. She must know that he tunes out her voice because she chucks a crumpled-up napkin at his face, beaming at him when he effortlessly bats it away.

“About what,” he deadpans, not actually all that interested in whatever new problem his body’s decided to present him with.

Lena motions at his chest, the grey standard-issue shirt he’d changed into. “That.”

Genji looks down. There’s a dark spot over his collar where cybernetics join flesh, dark red, nearly black, spreading from the single point outwards. He knows a bloodstain when he sees one and presses his fingers to the spot, hissing through his teeth when his flesh gives easily under the pressure, peeling away from the metal adjoining it. Dr. Ziegler will give him absolute hell about this– she’d spent so much time and energy trying to preserve what remained of his body and here he’s gone and systematically undone what he remembers to be a grueling operation.

It hasn’t detached enough to be an issue, as far as Genji’s concerned, and he takes a handful of napkins off the holder on their table to layer over the break. When he finally remembers that Lena exists, he has to look away from the expression of fascinated pity on her face to pull on his jacket.

“Genji,” she says, “let’s go back now.”

He inspects the tube on his arm for any kinks that might back up the flow of blood, flexes the stiffness out of his fingers and ignores her.

“Genji,” Tracer says again, her voice plaintive.

Genji relents, idly noting how cool his organic palm feels against what remains of his neck. “She will see it at the next physical,” he tells her, cocking an eyebrow. “Finish your tasteless beer.”

“That’s in two weeks!”

“It can wait,” he says.

Tracer sighs, her eyes softening. “I don’t think it can,” she says, pulling her beer in front of her and clasping her hands around the body of the glass. “I smelled it when we left the training room, but I thought it might have been me. It was like that time Angela had to do a rush operation on your right arm.”

A cool, heavy weight settles in his gut at her words, Genji’s brows furrowing as he reaches for the latches that hold his visor in place. He remembers belatedly that he doesn’t have much of a sense of smell left anyway, and swallows his pride long enough to ask, “Can you smell it here?”

“Not here–”

“Then it can wait.”

Lena takes a swig of beer, holding it in her mouth for a few seconds before she swallows, her eyes closed. It takes her a beat longer to muster the courage to look him in the eyes and demand, “Why won’t you let her look at you?”

“She will see it sooner or later,” Genji deflects again, eyes darting toward the exit. His fingers drum against the surface of the table, but he can feel the sluggishness of the movement even without the alert in his eye implants flashing a low circulation warning. “Don’t concern yourself over this.”

Tracer fidgets with a coaster, flicking it across the table between her hands while she glances at his face, trying to catch his eye long enough to properly convey her level of concern. “I’m worried about you, Genji, you’ve been the only thing keeping me sane since Winston started tinkering with this chronal accelerator.” She flashes him a brittle smile. “What’m I gonna do if I don’t have you?”

“Find a training partner,” he answers, voice flat, “who’s allowed on active duty.”

“You know Angela would want to see it.”

It was a mistake to come out, but it’s almost too late to backtrack now. Genji looks down, eyes on the table. “I know.”

“Then why’re you putting it off?”

Genji doesn’t meet her eyes but he swallows, once, to clear his throat. “When she sees it,” he says, choking back the quaver in his voice, any sign of fear that Lena might pick up, “she will remove it.”

What he doesn’t expect next is both Lena’s hands on his human one, almost searing his skin with the warmth of her touch. She doesn’t back off even when he whips his head up to look at her, all his lights flashing a dangerous red. The bright, watery sheen in her eyes gives him pause and then she sniffs, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. “Oh,” she whispers, “Genji, I’m so sorry.”

He never could deal with sad women. These people probably think they’re dating now and he’s just said something horrible to her which, if he were a few years younger and Lena was even remotely interested in men, _could_ have been the scenario and Genji takes a second to be amused about it. “It isn’t your fault,” he says immediately, squeezing her hands, both of them somehow small enough to fit in his. “I just… need time. Dr. Ziegler would schedule the procedure for tomorrow morning if I showed her now.”

“I’m sure there’s something–-”

He pulls away, watching while Lena dashes away unshed tears and looks at him again. “There isn’t,” he tells her gently, “but thank you. I’m sorry to have made you worry.”

She nods dejectedly, but after a few seconds determination flashes across her face. Lena knocks back her beer, then slams her glass back onto the table, jumping slightly at the sound it makes. “Can you,” she begins, “get drunk, still?”

Genji tilts his head to the side. He still has a good portion of his stomach, and Mercy had told him that liquids were fine. “The conversion nanites have not been fully introduced yet,” he answers, “so it’s possible.”

“Well,” Tracer says, “there’s a liquor store down the block and Winston says I can use his lab anytime. D'you want to find out, love?”

She doesn’t wait for his answer, popping to her feet and blinking out the door. It wouldn’t be the first time Genji’s drank liquor out of a beaker and it probably won’t be the last; he pushes his seat back and stands, striding to the bar to close their tab and collect Lena’s credit card. She hadn’t let him pay (though he’d offered), citing the fact that he never removes his visor in public and therefore never actually drinks.

He meets her on the way out, Lena nearly colliding with him in a rush to retrieve her card. He brandishes the plastic, pulling it out of her reach when she makes a grab for it, and handing it back properly when she pouts at him. “My treat,” he says.

Tracer grins at him, halfway down the block in the half-second it takes for Genji to blink. “Sure,” she calls back, “if you can get there first!”


End file.
